


To Protect Them and Keep Them

by nickelsandcoats



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelsandcoats/pseuds/nickelsandcoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Lestrade comfort each other when they visit Sherlock and John in hospital directly after <i>The Great Game.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	To Protect Them and Keep Them

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://sabrinaphynn.livejournal.com/profile)[**sabrinaphynn**](http://sabrinaphynn.livejournal.com/)’s prompt [here](http://nickelsandcoats.livejournal.com/122267.html) at my shuffle meme post. Feel free to prompt me something there!
> 
> Song choice: #39: “The Threat of War” from _The King’s Speech_ soundtrack by Alexandre Desplat.

  
Mycroft Holmes strode up to the reception desk in the ward, tone harsh as he demanded, “Sherlock Holmes. Where is he?” The nurse started to stammer a reply when a familiar voice spoke his name.

“Mycroft!” Gregory’s voice rang out in the hushed corridor. Mycroft’s head snapped around to see his husband, bloodied and covered in ash, beckoning him to a room. Mycroft went even paler at the sight Gregory presented.

Sensing his husband’s distress at his appearance, Greg walked briskly down the hallway and gently touched Mycroft’s arm. “I’m fine,” he breathed. “Just a few bruises and scrapes, I swear. Most of the blood isn’t even mine.” Greg snapped his mouth shut an instant too late as Mycroft actually wavered on his feet as the implication of Greg’s words sank in. “Oh, fuck, love, I’m sorry.”

Mycroft forced his hand to stop its trembling. He cleared his throat and said, “Where is he? Is he all right? I couldn’t get anyone to tell me anything.”

Greg tucked his husband’s arm against his side as he escorted him back down the hallway to a large private room. “They’re in here. I told the nurses to keep them together.”

Mycroft nodded.

Greg paused with his hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath. “They’re alive, and should recover without any problems, or so I’m told. But…” He pulled Mycroft to face him, holding his gaze. “But they were very badly hurt, and they’re lucky to be alive. They look bad. You need to be prepared for that.”

Mycroft swallowed, straightening his spine in preparation for whatever waited for him beyond that door. Gregory leaned forward and kissed him softly before depressing the handle and swinging the door open.

The first thing Mycroft heard was the beeping. The second thing he heard was the gentle whoosh of Doctor Watson’s ventilator. The last thing he heard was the whimper that escaped him when he finally allowed his eyes to focus on Sherlock.

He forced his feet to move, to stand next to Sherlock’s bed and gently brush his brother’s hand. Gregory’s hand was tight around his waist, holding him up as he blinked back tears.

He had seen Sherlock in hospital before, of course, when he had overdosed. But this was far worse. Sherlock had never looked vulnerable like this, so small and fragile, with bandages, wires, burns, tubes, and bruises covering every exposed inch of skin. Sherlock’s eyes were closed, black lashes fluttering softly against his cheeks. Patches of his hair had been shaved off and stitches had been placed in where his curls had been.

Mycroft felt Gregory squeeze his side tightly for a moment before turning to sit next to Doctor Watson. The doctor looked, if it was possible, worse than Sherlock. Mycroft blinked for a moment, looking at his Gregory gently holding Doctor Watson’s hand and seeing him lying in the doctor’s place in that bed. He choked back a sob. Gregory cast him a concerned look, but Mycroft shook his head at the unspoken offer of comfort. The doctor needed that comfort more right now. Right now, Mycroft needed to let the rage that he had so carefully repressed ever since he had received the call that Sherlock was badly hurt and in hospital flow to the surface. He was trembling now with the force of the protective fury welling in him.

“What happened?”

Gregory cleared his throat. “A bomb. Sherlock arranged to meet the person behind the bombings at a local pool. The person responsible kidnapped John and used him as a hostage. The bomb went off and collapsed the pool. I was one of the first on the scene, and I found them together, half buried under the rubble. John had tried to shield Sherlock as much as he could. John was still mostly conscious when I found them, and he told me what had happened to them. He wouldn’t let go of Sherlock⎯it took three of us to pry him off.”

“Do you know who did this to them?” Mycroft asked when he trusted his voice again.

Gregory’s face was hard as he said, “Moriarty.”

Mycroft nodded and pulled his mobile from his pocket. He sent a brief text to Anthea. With that one text, he had sealed this Moriarty’s fate. There would be no threat of a prolonged war with this Moriarty⎯it would be an assassination, pure and quick.

After he slid his mobile in his pocket, he looked down to see that Sherlock’s eyes, even more startling than normal against the extreme pallor of his face, were open. “John?” he mouthed.

“Will recover.”

Sherlock squeezed his hand with all the strength left in him and closed his eyes again. Mycroft sank down into the chair next to Sherlock’s bed. Gregory reached out and took his free hand as he kept his hold on Doctor Watson’s.

Eventually, Mycroft stirred and said, “Thank you for saving them.”

Gregory gave him a small smile. “They’re our family, Mycroft. I only wish I could’ve done more.”

Mycroft’s mobile beeped. He pulled it from his pocket and gave a feral grin at the message.

 _Moriarty eliminated._

He turned the mobile so Gregory could see the screen. His husband’s grin matched his own.

“Good.”

Mycroft nodded and slipped the phone into his pocket once more. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He couldn’t prevent every battle, forsee every war that Sherlock would entangle himself and his doctor in, but if there was any way to keep the threat a little further away from his family, he would do whatever was necessary to protect them. He shuddered as he thought of what he would have done if Gregory had been Moriarty’s next target. The idea did not bear thinking about. He took a deep breath and kissed Gregory’s hand. His husband smiled softly at him.

Beside him, Sherlock’s and John’s monitors beeped steadily into the night. Gregory’s breaths evened and slowed as he dozed. Mycroft kept up his silent vigil, feeling that if he let his guard down for one moment, the war would be lost, and that was not a risk he was willing to take. He settled into his chair, waiting for the dawn.


End file.
